"And now, my dear lord,' continued the Lady Helen, tell me, if a fair English maiden, with soft blue eyes, and delicate accent, had thus suffered, if driven from a beloved home, with a helpless parent, she had refused the hand of the man she loved, because she would not bring poverty to his dwelling, if she had undertaken a journey to a foreign land, suffered scorn, and starvation, been tempted to return, but until her object was accomplished, until justice was done to her parent, resisted that temptation, would you say she acted from impulse or from principle?

"I say," replied the old gentleman, answering his god-daughter's winning smile, "that you are a saucy gipsy, to catch me in this way; fine times, indeed, when a pretty lass of eighteen talks down a man of sixty! But tell me the result?"

"Instead of returning to Brighton, my father, without apprising our worthy agent, in three days arranged for our visiting dear Ireland! Only think, how delightful, so romantic, and so useful too-Kate, you cannot imagine how lovely she looked, she quite eclipsed Lafont! Then her exclamations of delight, were so new, so curious, nothing so original to be met with, even at the soirées of the literati. There you may watch for a month without hearing a single thing worth remembering ; but Kate's remarks were so shrewd, so mixed with observation and simplicity, that every

idea was worth noting. I was so pleased with the prospect of the meeting, the discomfiture of the agent, the joy of the lovers, and the wedding (all stories that end properly end in that way, you know), that I did not even request to spend a day in Bath. We hired a carriage in Dublin, and just on the verge of papa's estate, saw Mr O'Brien, his hands in his pockets, his fuzzy red hair, sticking out all round his dandy hat, like a burning furze bush, and his vulgar ugly face as dirty as if it had not been washed for a month. He was lording it over some half-naked creatures, who were breaking stones, but who, despite of his presence, ceased working as the carriage approached. There's himself,' muttered Kate. We stopped, and I shall never forget the appalled look of O'Brien when my father put his head out of the window. Cruikshank should have seen it. He could not utter a single sentence-many of the poor men also recognised us, and as we nodded and spoke to some we recognised amongst them, shouted so loud for fair joy, that the horses galloped on-not before, however, the triumphant Katherine, almost throwing herself out, exclaimed-And I'm here, Mr O'Brien-in the same coach wid my lord and lady-and now we'll have justice;' at which my father was very angry, and I was equally delighted. It was worth a king's ransom to see the happiness of the united families of the Connor's and the

Cassidy's-the grey cat, even purred with sa-
tisfaction, then such a wedding! Only fancy
-my dear lord, my being bridesmaid! danc-
ing an Irish jig on an earthen floor! Ye ex-
quisites and exclusives! How would ye receive
the Lady Helen Graves, if this were known
at Almack's? From what
my father saw and
heard, when he used his own eyes and ears
for the purpose, he resolved to reside six.
months out of the twelve at Castle Graves.
You can scarcely imagine how well we got on,
the people were sometimes a little obstinate,
in the matter of smoke-and now and then,
an odd dunghill too near the door-and as
they love liberty themselves, do not much like
to confine their pigs. But these are only trifles.
I have my own school, on my own plan, which
I will explain to you another time, and now
will only tell you that it is visited by both
clergyman and priest-and I only wish that
all our absentees would follow our example; and
then, my dear god-papa, THE IRISH WOULD

HAVE GOOD IMPULSES, AND ACT
PRINCIPLES."

UPON

RIGHT

S. C. HALL.

A THOUGHT.

THOUGH far away,

Though ruthless time have scatter'd memory's dream; Some scenes can ne'er decay,

But rest where all is change, like islands on a stream.

L

I THOCHT the grave was a sweeter part,
Where ane wud rest in a sounder sleep;
I thocht that upon the tender heart
The cauldness wud nae lie sae deep.
I used to think, when I wont to lie

By the dyke-side on the mossy brae,
Wi my e'en turn'd on the bonny blue sky,

Where the wee wreathy clouds sae peacefully layWhen I felt the summer breath warm on my face, And o'er me was coming slumber deep

That the grave was sic anither place,

Where ane wud lie in as sweet a sleep.

But I see nae mair the heaven's gladsome licht, And nae mair I feel the sweet breath o' the sky; And black and heavy on my sicht

The calm dead airs of my dungeon lie:

I for ever look on the grave's lonely wa',

Where creeps each earthy and loathsome beast,
And frae which the big draps o' the dead dew fa',
And heavily sink through my wasting breast.
There's nae warm friendly voice to cheer

The darkness and silence sae dismal and dree;
There's nae saft word that comes to speer
How it is in the lanely house wi' me.

Hark! how aboon my dreary grave
Weightily splashes the fast fa'ing rain;
Hark! how the sweeping nicht-winds rave,

When stay'd in their speed by the big grave-stane. I wish I were up, to straught my banes,

And drive frae my face the cauld dead air; I wish I were up, that the friendly rains

Micht wash the dark mould frae my tangled hair;

I wish I were up, ance mair to drink

The fresh breath o' heaven frae the healthy plain, And see the wee stars as they blithesomely blink, And hear the sweet voice o' a friend again.

THE TWO SISTERS.

THE pretty square farm-house, standing at the corner where Kibes-lane crosses the brook, or the brook crosses Kibes-lane (for the first phrase, although giving by far the closest picture of the place, does, it must be confessed, look rather Irish), and where the aforesaid brook winds away by the side of another lane, until it spreads into a river-like dignity, as it meanders through the sunny plains of Hartley-common, and finally disappears amidst the green recesses of Pinge-wood

that pretty square farm-house, half hidden by the tall elms in the flower-court before it, which, with the spacious garden and orchard behind, and the extensive barn-yards and outbuildings, so completely occupies one of the angles formed by the crossing of the lane and the stream that pretty farm-house contains one of the happiest and most prosperous families in Aberleigh-the large and thriving family of Farmer Evans.

Whether from skill or good fortune, or, as is most probable, from a lucky mixture of both, every thing goes right in his great farm. His crops are the best in the parish; his hay is never spoiled; his cattle never die; his servants never thieve; his children are never